


Where Can We Go From Here?

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [26]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Josephine can get a party set up that fast, no one will ever know.  Regan Trevelyan and her crew have defeated Corypheus.  Somehow, Josephine puts together a celebratory banquet within a very short time, complete with a couple surprise guests</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Can We Go From Here?

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, some game-divergence here, but that’s OK. Also, Trespasser threw a bit of a wrench into my original idea, so this is a tweaked version.

She pushed her way through the crowd of nobles clogging the main hall’s doors.  Josephine and Leliana had … convinced … her to get ready for the banquet in Cullen’s quarters, having chased the commander out with barely hidden glee.  He’d been shuffled off to Dorian’s chambers with carefully written instructions for both he and the mage to follow to prepare for the evening’s festivities. Now, the hours of poking and prodding and lacing and primping were at an end, and she was stuck in a gown she’d never seen before in order to impress a swarm of nobles she didn’t care about.  Every few feet, she was stopped and gushed over by some noblewoman, or flirted with by some nobleman, and she wanted nothing more than to find Cullen and make an escape.  

He stood rigidly near the main door, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the people practically mob the Inquisitor.  He knew Josephine had worked hard to organize the banquet as quickly as possible after Corypheus’ defeat and the Inquisitor’s return – so much so that he had a suspicion that invitations had gone out before they’d even started their trek back to Haven to face him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be there.  He wanted to celebrate, yes, but … he wanted to do so alone, with her.  She’d done the impossible and managed to return to him, mostly unharmed.  And now, he had to watch as nobles from all over Thedas vied for her attention.  It was worse than the blasted ball at Halamshiral.  

And the outfit Dorian had forced upon him?  At least it fit better than the ones he’d worn to Orlais or when her parents visited.  This one was a deep blue and made for him, rather than altered from someone else’s or crafted solely to fit an image.  Silver buckles held the jacket closed over the crisp white tunic, and he had to admit the leather trousers the mage had practically poured him in looked … good.  Would she like it?  Would he even have the chance to see her, or would the throng of people surrounding her keep them apart all evening?

“Oh, for the love of the Maker, Lord Eastman; for the last time, I am not going to marry your son.”  Her voice rose above the din to tickle at Cullen’s ears.  They had known her victory would make her even more of a conquest for some noble family, and they had been certain her mother would be scheming all the while to make an arrangement.  There just wasn’t much either could do to prepare.  

“I don’t care what my mother told you.  I’m quite sure he has a lovely personality, but the boy is twelve.  I am not marrying a twelve year old.”  She reached up, fully intending on rubbing her eyes or burying her head in her hands.  But she stopped, remembering the threat of bodily harm should she ruin Josephine’s handiwork.  Her advisors had gone overboard this time, painting her face until she felt nearly unrecognizable.  Her hair had defied much of their efforts, as it was almost too short to do anything with.  But the crown of crystal grace pinned into the short auburn locks certainly caught the eye.  “Now, if you will excuse me, there are other guests that require attention … unless you wish them to accuse you of trying to monopolize the Inquisitor’s time?”

Cullen bit back a laugh, shaking his head.  Nobles certainly had odd ideas about marriage.  Why a father want his boy … not a man, but a boy, to marry a woman more than twice his age, he would never understand.  He reached up, felt for the pendant beneath his jacket, and sighed.  How he wanted to just grab her hand and pull her to some quiet corner, away from all … this.

“Yes, Countess Esther, your nephew does look dashing.  In fact, I believe Perrin siblings agree as well.”  Regan deftly guided the young brother and sister toward the young man being presented, smiling to herself as the trio’s eyes lit up.  “I believe we should let them get acquainted, Countess.  Oh, no, my lady; I do not consider it an insult at all.  Have you had a chance to speak with Master Pavus; I’m sure he has some wondrous tales he could tell you.  And if he doesn’t, Madam de Fer is always happy to discuss court intrigue.”  Maker, it should not be this hard to get to talk to the one person she wanted to.  Of course, the dress Leliana had commissioned at some point didn’t help matters.  The full skirt made slipping through crowds unnoticed impossible, even if she weren’t the Inquisitor, and the boning in the corset made breathing a chore.  With an exhausted sigh, she finally managed to get near Cullen.  “I am going to kill Josephine for this,” she muttered before letting herself relax … slightly.

He felt her presence as she neared.  To be truthful, he noticed the smell of peppermint on the air before anything else; He was sure Mia would tease him if and when she found out – she had already called him out for referring to her as ‘Regan’ instead of ‘The Inquisitor’ in his more recent letters, but he didn’t particularly care.  It was just one of the multitude of ways his body had become attuned to her.  He turned to greet her, dropping into a bow as a gentleman should.  He lifted his head, reaching out for her hand, intending to play the role Dorian had suggested.  But then he saw her, and everything fled his mind.  

The voluminous skirt hid her feet, reaching nearly to the floor.  The hem was decorated with tiny jewels, most of which he could not identify.  But the candlelight reflecting off of them made the ground seem to shimmer with starlight as she moved.  The near sky blue fabric disappeared under a corset of silver; he was sure that had cost a hefty amount of coin.  Again, the female advisors had ordered that the dress be crafted with a modest neckline, but that didn’t stop his gaze from lingering.  Of course, he could always use the excuse that he was enraptured by the fact that the coin he’d given her for luck was resting atop the fabric-covered shelf created by the corset, held by a finely crafted chain, for the world to see.  She wore no other jewelry; just his coin.  He watched her lips curl into an embarrassed smile and groaned softly as she pinned her lower lip beneath her teeth.  He finally met her gaze and just … stared.

She had expected him to be surprised.  The last time she’d been in a dress had been at Halamshiral, and he’d been … appreciative.  Of course, that dress hadn’t fit well; Celene had generously donated the dress after the Inquisition had saved her life and ended the civil war and it had been almost too tight to be comfortable, and far too short for her liking – the Empress was a little on the small side.  The only other time he’d seen her in anything but trousers, or armor, had been the farewell banquet for her parents, and that had been a rather plain affair.  This dress … Leliana had proudly whispered that this dress had been designed with her in mind, strictly to command the attention of anyone who saw her.

What she hadn’t expected was the look on his face when he saw her – a look that screamed ‘I want to rip that dress off you right here and now and take you in a manly fashion’.  Or, at least, she assumed that was what that look meant.  She’d never really seen that look on anyone before.  She could have sworn her heart jumped into her throat, though how it managed to move with that damned corset on she didn’t know.  She felt her cheeks grow warm as his eyes devoured her.

“My lady; you look ….”  He finally managed to get his brain and mouth working again, knowing that at any moment, she would be whisked away.  “You look absolutely radiant, my love … um, Inquisitor.”  Blast it all, why couldn’t he have seen her in this somewhere less crowded.  He didn’t want to have to treat her as a title.  He wanted to be able to treat her like the woman she was, the way she deserved to be; the woman he wanted.  And he wanted her out of that dress.  But she did look stunning.

“Regan,” she corrected, smiling conspiratorially.  “Although, I believe I prefer ‘my love’ above the others.”  As he stood, still looking stunned, she finally had a chance to take in his appearance.  While it could not compare to her fondness for the unclothed Cullen, or even the tunic-and-trousers Cullen she so rarely had the chance to see … oh, and she could not forget shirtless Cullen that she faced every time they trained; she had to admit this outfit suited him.  The boots were recently polished, the rich brown leather just a hair darker than the trousers tucked into them.  Those trousers clung to his legs just enough to make her want to hurry the party along.  The dark blue jacket accentuated his broad shoulders and was obviously made for him; an extravagance she wasn’t sure he’d ever allowed himself before.  

“But what about …?”  He tried to gesture at the surrounding crowd without being noticed.  He didn’t want to call any more attention to his slip than he might have already.  He had to admit that he was thrilled she didn’t seem to care, but … what about the image she was supposed to project?  Was there an image she was supposed to project?  Why didn’t she seem worried about the carefully crafted image Josephine kept saying was important?

“I don’t care, Cullen,” she whispered, shaking her head.  “I am not interested in what the majority of these people have to say.  I will nod and smile and make nice as much as I have to, but I draw the line at letting a single one think there is even a sliver of a chance that I would be amenable to discussions of a marriage alliance concerning myself … or you.”  She leaned in, kissed his cheek softly.  “You are the only person I’m interested in impressing.”

He chuckled softly, hoping the warmth at his ears didn’t spread further.  She … wasn’t interested in hiding their relationship!  She wasn’t flaunting it, exactly, but she wasn’t hiding it.  “And you do such a wonderful job of it, love.  Am I imagining things, or do you … do we actually have a moment to breathe?”   He glanced around, surprised that none of the nobles had made their way over to her yet.  He couldn’t know that Varric, Cole and Sera were working a little … magic, so to speak, to give them a few moments alone.

She smiled warmly, reaching up to brush her fingers over the coin.  “I believe we do have a moment.”  She could feel her cheeks warming still, hoping no one else could hear her thudding heartbeat.  “I doubt it will last overlong, sadly.”

He reached out, trying not to think of the nobles’ eyes that were surely watching them.  He felt his hand quiver for a brief second before he swallowed, steeling himself.  He would not cower under their gaze.  Gently brushing fingertips along the side of her face, he sighed.  “I … should be thanking you.”  When she looked confused, he brushed his thumb across her lips.  “You gave me a chance to … to prove myself.  In your place, I’m not sure I would have done the same.”  He bit back another groan as her tongue darted out, flicked against the pad of his thumb just ahead of the soft kiss that followed.  Maker, he wanted to lead her somewhere … anywhere … private, even for just a moment.  He wanted to taste her again.  “I … I should let you mingle.”  He reluctantly pulled back, feeling her hand grip his arm.  “I’m sure everyone here desires your attention ….”  With a soft growl, he pulled her against him, smiling at the tiny yelp of surprise.  “As much as I might want it all for myself; I suppose that might be … selfish.”  He brushed a soft kiss against her cheek and released her, smiling sadly as she was engulfed by the crowd again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Maker, these nobles would be the death of her.  It felt like she’d met and danced with nearly every nobleman in Thedas.  Her feet hurt from the constant movement.  Her head hurt from the near constant chatter hanging in the air.  Her throat hurt from the repeated refusals of more dances or marriages or the chance to meet one eligible son after another.  She just wanted to … disappear, but Leliana had actually frisked her before letting her leave, making sure she didn’t have any of the implements she used to hide from sight during battle.  She had been trying to make her way to the door leading to her chambers, but every time she went more than two feet, someone was there to stop her.

Finally, she managed to reach her door, glad to see it was guarded by James and Mel.  It was bad enough that only door leading to her chambers was in the main hall; she didn’t want to run the risk of any overzealous nobles finding their way up.  She gave the soldiers a quick nod as she opened the door only to stop suddenly when she realized her path was blocked.  “Cullen?”

He reached out for her, gently took her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing gentle kisses across her knuckles. He smiled at the blush suddenly coloring her cheeks.  He was amazed that even after all this time, the simple gesture got to her, caused her skin to flush and breath to hitch.  “You managed to slip away,” he purred softly, pulling her through the door.  He nuzzled at her ear, stubble gently scratching against her cheek when his lips teased her ear.

She felt him smile as he held her, whispered words tickling her skin.  “I did,” she whispered, draping her arms over his shoulders.  She had no idea how he’d managed to make his way through the crowd faster than she had.  She had thought he would be at least as sought after, if not more so, after seeing the mob of courtiers surrounding him at Halamshiral.  But here he was, holding her as James quietly eased the door closed, leaving them in relative peace.  “Is there something you needed?”

Cullen swallowed a groan before chuckling softly, taking a reluctant step back.  “I … thought I might claim more of your attention after all.”  All evening, he had watched as she flitted from one noble to another.  His stomach had tightened every time a new nobleman led her off to the side, knowing that they were trying, yet again, to convince her to cement an alliance … a marriage.  The only respite had been the occasional glances they’d shared across the crowded hall.  He’d managed to avoid dancing with anyone by insisting that he was present in a guard capacity only this time; that slight fib had allowed him to make his way to her door with little trouble.

“I see.”  Regan smiled shyly, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs to her … their … room.  “I’m glad you managed to sneak away as well.  I can think of no one I would rather spend time celebrating with.”  She reluctantly released her grip on his hand to pluck up the front of the gown after the third time she tripped on the first set of stairs.  Cullen’s firm hands darting to her waist were all that prevented her from falling face first each time.  “Andraste’s balls, I am going to pummel Leliana for this dress.”

“I don’t know,” he laughed softly, watching as she made her way up the remaining steps.  He’d simply pluck her up and carry her if it wasn’t for the fact that the skirt was so … large.  “I found it almost impossible to tear my eyes away from you all evening.”  He heard her harrumph before finally shoving open the final door and had to stifle a laugh.

“Hush, you.”  Regan immediately set about trying to unlace the corset as soon as she reached the final step.  Unfortunately, since it tied in the back, she couldn’t quite reach.  Her twisting and reaching and grunting enabled her feet to become tangled in her skirts, sending her over the arm of the sofa near the stairs.  “Oh for the love of -,” she winced, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration.  She’d forgotten how much time it had taken Leliana and Josephine to lace her into the offending garment.

“Could I be of service, my lady?” Cullen teased, reaching out for her hand.  He laughed as she stuck her tongue out at him, wrapping his lips around it when he pulled her to him.  He moaned softly as her body seemed to melt into him, his fingers moving swiftly to find and undo the lacing while she was distracted.  Blast it, Leliana had done an excellent job with the bloody knot; if he’d had a knife handy, he would just cut through the offending tie.  But, finally the knot was loosened and lacing pulled away.

Oh, thank the Maker; she could breathe again.  She practically collapsed against Cullen as the corset sagged, then fell to the floor.  A soft moan was muffled by his kiss and she gripped his shoulders to keep from falling.  She felt his hands clutch at her, supporting her, holding her close.  The skirt was still a problem, but one easily rectified.  She moved a few steps back, reluctantly, and busied herself with removing the layers of underskirts Leliana had piled on.  She was so focused on her task that she didn’t notice Cullen’s cheeks and throat going bright pink.  

Andraste preserve him; he wanted to offer his aid, wanted to be the one to have his hands working her free of those skirts, feeling her skin against his, dipping down between her legs to ….  But he didn’t.  Instead, he just watched, fighting back a growl when she finally yelped with triumph and stepped out, the dress now hanging loosely on her frame.  He knew it would soon end up on the floor with the corset and other bits, much to Leliana’s annoyance.  But for now, she seemed content to wear it as she led him toward the balcony.  He almost couldn’t believe all they’d managed to do.  “The battle’s over,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind.  “There will be a new divine – you won’t believe who the rumors say has been chosen … or maybe you would.”  He chuckled softly, burying his nose in her hair and relishing the smell of peppermint once again.  Maker, he loved the way she smelled.  “Yet, I find that I don’t care about anything other than you being alive … and in my arms right now.”

She smiled, leaned against him, finally relaxing.  They had won.  “Cullen,” she purred, lifting a hand to rest at the top of his neck so her fingers could play with his hair.  “You have no idea how relieved I was … to see you waiting for me, love.”  She shivered as his lips danced against the side of her throat, biting back a whimper when his hands gripped at her sides.  “So I … so tell me, Ser Cullen ….  When we first met, what were your thoughts?  Did you really think we could do … all this; be all this?”  

He smirked, chuckled softly as he slid his hands up her sides, stopping just below where both wanted his hands to be … teasing.  “Honestly?” he murmured, flicking his tongue along the edge of her ear as he spoke.  “Honestly, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.  I … felt drawn to you.  But we’d only just met; I couldn’t bring myself to even think you might ever ….”  He hadn’t understood what it had been about her that had captured him so quickly; still didn’t, really.  He couldn’t say it was love at the time; that was foolish.  But there had been … something that drew him to her … that fascinated him.  No one, not even … that mage in the tower so many years before … had affected him so.  “I had no idea how far the Inquisition would come, or if we would even succeed.  Or, that I might find someone so … special to me.”

She felt her heart leap to her throat, insides clenching again.  She wanted to grab his hands, move them just a bit higher, feel him squeeze, caress her.  His confession threatened to turn her knees to mush and she gripped the railing tighter than intended to keep from collapsing at his feet.  “So … now that you have … now that we’ve made it this far, what happens next?”  She felt him stiffen against her, could have sworn she felt his hands tremble as they slowly left her sides.  

He wanted to ask her … could think of no better time to do so.  The small box felt heavy tucked inside his dress jacket.  All he had to do was ask her … open his mouth and let the question that would change both their lives come out.  But … what if she said no?  She had this look … nervous, maybe … pensive … like something was on her mind.  Would he be rushing her if he asked now?  The Inquisition was still picking up the pieces after defeating Corpyheus.  And there was the matter of Solas’ disappearance.  “Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”  

“Together … I like that idea.”  She turned, brushed her lips against his and sighed.  “I … we ….  Cullen, I have a confession.”  She reached up, ran her fingers through his hair as nervous eyes met hers.  “Nothing bad,” she laughed, biting her lip.  “At least … I hope you won’t think it’s bad.  I don’t think it’s bad.”

“What is it, love?”  Maker, what could she possibly have to confess?  It wasn’t bad, she’d said … but what definition was she using?  “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Regan took a breath, opened her mouth, finally ready to tell him what she’d been wanting to say since before they’d left to face Corypheus - that she wanted to spend the rest of her days … however long that might be … with him, and only him.  And then, her chamber door swung open.

“Pardon, Inquisitor … Commander.”  James tried to ignore the knot in his stomach.  He knew, from personal experience, how poorly interrupting the pair could go.  The first time he’d interrupted, he’d gotten lucky; the Inquisitor had managed to convince the Commander not to send him to the Western Approach or Hissing Wastes.  The second time, he hadn’t been so lucky.  He interrupted another of their embraces, and ended up in the Fallow Mire for a month.  But given the circumstances, he felt the risk was necessary.  “I beg your forgiveness, but … the King of Ferelden … um, King Alistair, is requesting your presence.  He’s only just arrived.”

Regan sighed and dropped her head to rest on Cullen’s shoulder.  The Maker had an incredible sense of timing, didn’t he?  “Tell his royal interruptor … tell his royal highness that I shall be down momentarily.  I promise not to keep him waiting.”  She leaned up to kiss Cullen again, enjoying the feel of his arms around her as the messenger nodded and all but ran back down the stairs.  

“You were saying?” Cullen whispered.  The only thing saving James from a stint in the hissing wastes was the fact that the message was from the bloody Ferelden king; he couldn’t exactly say no.  

“I … just … I love you, Cullen,” she whispered, smiling into his chest.  She kept her arms around him for another moment before reluctantly pulling back.  She really shouldn’t keep the King waiting.  “Of course, now we need to figure out how to get me back into that getup.”  Oh, Maker, she didn’t want to have to be laced back into those confining garments.

“Why don’t you just change into something you’re more comfortable in?” he suggested.  “I’m sure the King won’t mind.”  As much as he liked seeing her in the dress Leliana had chosen, he preferred her to be at ease in her clothes.  Well, to be perfectly honest, if she had to be wearing clothes, he preferred seeing her in nothing but one of his tunics.  But she was more herself when she was comfortable, and that was all that mattered.  Her answering look of shock, immediately followed by a grin made him laugh.  He could do little but watch as she all but tore the remainder of the dress over her head, tossing it to the side, followed immediately by the shift she wore underneath.  He couldn’t help but think Leliana would be upset if she found out.

Clad only in her underthings, she darted for the wardrobe, pulling out her favorite pair of trousers and a surprisingly ornate tunic.  The trousers slipped on quickly, deft fingers tying the lace faster than he’d ever seen.  The tunic took a bit more effort – it was not a loose fitting shirt.  In all honesty, the word tunic probably wasn’t accurate.  It was just the only word either of them had for it.  It was Antivan in design, with small silver toggles running along the front.  Once on, it clung tightly across her chest, then flared out, almost like a skirt … just … higher up.  “How’s this look?” she asked nervously before pulling on her boots.  

“Perfect.  Though, I cannot promise I won’t be a little jealous of his royal highness.”  He reached for her yet again, knowing they … or at least she … should hurry; keeping a king waiting was never a good thing.  But there had not been enough of these moments, where it was just the two of them, since this whole thing started.  There was nothing chaste about the kiss he pulled her into this time; tongue, lips, teeth all teasing her with promises for later.

It took her a moment before she could speak, really wishing Alistair had better timing.  “Come rescue me soon?”

“I will cut in as soon as I can,” Cullen promised.  “Or, at least as soon as Josephine is sure it wouldn’t cause a diplomatic incident.”

She reluctantly pulled back and gave him one more smile before heading down the flights of stairs to the main room.  She was certain he would follow, and sure enough, his footsteps echoed hers almost immediately.  All she had to do was figure out how to get both of them back into the room without causing too much of a stir.  

~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She slipped through the door, whispering instructions to James and Margot to keep Cullen hidden behind the door until as many eyes as possible were on her.  She had intended on asking Dorian to dance, or Vivienne, trusting either mage to do their part to become the center of attention.  She hadn’t expected the bloody King of Ferelden to practically ambush her.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”  Alistair bowed as he extended a hand, a small smile on his face.  He had arrived later than intended and had actually feared that he had offended her when he discovered she was not in the hall.  With her reappearance, he figured he had a chance to apologize for his delay.  When she accepted, he took her hand and led her to the center of the room.  “You’ll have to bear with me; I only sort of remember these steps,” he sighed, looking down for a moment.  “Regan … my Regan … has spent countless hours trying to teach me to dance and I only manage to muddle through them.”

“It’s alright, your majesty.  I’m sure you’ll do fine.  Think of it as a … training exercise.”  This worked out far better than she’d planned.  She could hear the murmurs of the crowd as she and the King made their way across the floor.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here; I didn’t realize Josephine had sent out invitations quite so … prematurely.”  Denerim was quite a ways from Skyhold.  Even if he had been in Redcliff, it would have taken a hard ride to make it before the festivities started.  

“She had faith in your abilities, it seems.”

Cullen finally made it through the door, running his fingers through his hair nervously.  He had no clue how long was proper to wait to cut in, especially when someone was dancing with royalty.  He was fairly sure Alistair would understand, but that didn’t change the fact that countless eyes would be on him when he approached.  And if the king had brought any sort of body guards, there was a chance he’d never even get close.

“Might I have this dance, Commander?”

A woman appeared at his side, near his height, clad in a simple blue dress with silver markings.  Her red hair was sprinkled with white and cut short – almost as short as the Inquisitor’s.  She was tall, filled out the dress well enough and her cheeks and arms bore several small scars, but it was her eyes he couldn’t stop staring at.  He … remembered those eyes – green, filled with concern as they watched him through the walls of his cage.  He saw the corners of her lips lift into a faint smile; she knew he remembered.  

“My lady,” he whispered, staring.  Hadn’t the king said she was off on some mission … searching for a way to rid the Wardens of the taint?  He started to drop to his knee, bowing his head in respect when she stopped him.

“Not here.  Right now, no one but Leliana and Lady Montilyet … and you … know I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.”  She reached for his hand and tugged, gently.  “Dance with me and I’ll explain.”  His stuttered reply that he didn’t really dance brought a smile to her face.  “Neither does Alistair, really.  But you see him out there, right?”

Cullen nodded, quite unsure what was going on.  The Queen of Ferelden – the woman who had saved Thedas more than ten years ago - was here, dancing with him, while the King was dancing with the woman who had just saved Thedas.  He let her guide him to the floor, surprised no one else seemed to recognize her; no one paid them a bit of attention.

“I need you to get me over to him,” the Queen instructed softly.  Her voice barely rose above a whisper, not wanting anyone nearby to overhear.  “And then, I’ll need you to ask if you can cut in.  Besides, I’m sure you’d rather dance with your Regan than me.”  His sudden stammered protests brought out a laugh louder than she’d intended.  She felt a few eyes drift to her, but felt confident no one would recognize her.  Many of these nobles had only seen her once or twice, years ago.  She was somewhat surprised that Cullen had recognized her, given the circumstances in which they had met.  “Commander, I’ve missed my husband and I do not want to cause a scene and take focus away from your Inquisitor’s accomplishments.  You would be doing me a great favor.”

Alistair knew that laugh, knew it better than his own.  His eyes widened as he spun around, trying to divide his attention between dance steps he only sort of knew and searching out the source of that laugh.  Was he hearing things, just imagining what he’d longed to hear for so many years?  Why would he be hearing it now?  Was it just because the woman he was dancing with shared the same first name?  Where was the source?

Regan watched the king’s face go from a simple smile to frantic concern as soon as someone laughed.  She had no idea what was so worrisome about that laugh.  “Is everything alright, your majesty?”  His answering nod wasn’t quite believable; his expression hadn’t changed and he was still looking around the room wildly.

“I just … thought I … I heard ….”  He shook his head, trying not to get ahead of himself.  “It couldn’t be.  She couldn’t be –.”

“May I cut in, your majesty?”  Cullen guided his partner over to the pair and slowly extended a hand toward his Regan.  He kept a careful eye on the king, watching for any sign that the queen’s plan was going awry.  He felt the woman in his arms stiffen slightly, heard her soft intake of breath … heard it matched by the king as his eyes found her.

Alistair’s answer was cut off before he had a chance to say anything, his mouth simply hanging open while Queen Regan deftly switched places with Inquisitor Regan.  “I thank you for your assistance, Commander,” the queen whispered over her shoulder, lifting a finger to gently press against her husband’s lips.  “I … we will be here for another few days, with your permission, Inquisitor.  I promise to explain more … later.  Right now, I have a need to … speak … with my husband.”  She barely waited for an answering nod before skillfully whisking the king away, disappearing through the door leading to the War Room.

“Well, that was … unexpected,” Regan muttered when she could finally speak again.  “How in Andraste’s name did you end up dancing with her?”  She wasn’t angry he had been dancing with the queen; far from it.  She knew how hard it had been for him to ask her at Halamshiral.  They’d found time for a few lessons, but she wasn’t an expert by any means.  “And … you don’t really think they’ll do anything on the war table, do you?”  There was a round-about route out of the main hall in that direction, so it was possible the queen knew how to keep the pair out of sight until they reached whatever room she had claimed.

“I didn’t really think I had much choice,” he laughed softly, doing his best to glide across the floor with her.  “And it seemed only fair, since you were dancing with her husband.”  He didn’t care who was watching, who might be offended that someone of such a low rank was holding the Inquisitor so familiarly.  Gentle fingers reached up, ran along her hairline, tracing along the edge of her ear.  “If they do use the war table for anything, at least we know it will hold up.”

She flushed, feeling everything from the neck up go warm.  “I … um ….”  She cleared her throat, pulled herself up onto her toes to whisper in his ear.  “You have a point.  And, perhaps we should … check.  If they aren’t, maybe … we should take the opportunity.”

Cullen smiled, practically beamed as he twirled her closer to the door leading out to Josephine’s office, and more importantly, the war room.  As they neared their destination, he paused, made sure no one could mistake it for a simple part of the dance.  He wanted to stake his claim, even if it would upset the noblemen.  “I love you, my Regan,” he whispered before wrapping an arm around her waist and slipping the other up so his hand could tangle into her hair.  And then he kissed her, leaning her back dramatically, growling softly as her hands clutched at his surcoat.

“Mine,” she whispered when they broke for air.  

And he agreed as he led her through the door, fully aware of the countless eyes on them.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Alistair tugged his wife away from the door when he noticed the pair heading their way, chuckling softly.  “Looks like you were right, love,” he whispered, pulling his wife close enough to hide in the shadows.  “How you knew that without ever meeting her, I don’t know, but you were right.”

“Well, I was here for a couple days before anyone got back.”  Regan nuzzled against his throat and didn’t bother hiding the soft growl as his hands moved to her rear.  “Leliana and I had lots of time to catch up.  And you were right; we should definitely stay on this Lady Montilyet’s good side.”  She slipped a hand between them and popped one or two of the buttons on his dress jacket open.  “I also had time to find all the routes back to … our room, so I could come and go without being seen.”

It took him a moment to grasp what she meant, but when he did, his content smile broke into a hungry grin.  “Well then,” he purred, flicking his tongue against that spot on her throat; the one that he knew made her practically weak in the knees.  “Why don’t we … test your knowledge?  I believe Ferelden’s king has been without his queen for far too long.”

Regan licked her lips, clutched at his shoulders to keep upright.  She had to bite back a moan, hard, before she could answer.  Maker, how she’d missed this; she had been away much too long.  Never again.  “I … thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the end ... Not really. There will be more, and some things still filled in, as I have the time.


End file.
